


Joni's Collection of Suits Ficlets

by jonius_belonius (Joni_Beloni)



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 14:58:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7578529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joni_Beloni/pseuds/jonius_belonius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A place to gather my shorter works, which have been previously posted to Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dark as Night, Warm as Home

**Author's Note:**

> If you follow me on Tumblr, there's a good chance you've already seen these stories. I may have edited them a bit, and made small changes, but they are essentially the same. Nothing explicit, but I will of course change the rating if the filth quotient increases.

This is sort of a coda to Suits S405, carrying over into S406.

***

_That look._

Mike couldn’t get that look out of his head.

Harvey, contrite, apologetic, eyes dark and soulful as he gazed down at Mike at his solo table in the restaurant.

He’d told Mike he was sorry. Sorry he hadn’t been able to stop the stock sale. Sorry he hadn’t trusted Mike from the jump. And Mike could only sit there, seething, ungracious, throwing Harvey’s apologies right back in his face.

He crammed another stack of socks in his suitcase, wedged his shaving kit on top, and zipped it shut. He looked around the apartment, at the home he’d been building with Rachel. It was over. She’d done the unthinkable and chosen Logan, even knowing that Sidwell had just kicked Mike to the curb.

Without warning, his legs gave way beneath him and he sat hard on the bed, leaning forward and resting his forehead against his knees, as if huddled inside a plummeting airplane waiting for it to crash. He shut his eyes tight, blocking out the ruins of his life, seeking refuge in the dark behind his eyelids.

Images assailed him, even inside his self-imposed darkness. He wasn’t seeing the look on Rachel’s traitorous face when she’d confessed to the affair and reconciliation with Logan. He wasn’t cataloging the box of personal items that he’d packed up when Sidwell fired him, or cringing over the hated Lucite tombstone Sidwell had thrust at him in an effort to shame him further.

What he saw projected on the inside of his eyelids was various versions of Harvey’s dark gaze, urging – no, _begging_ – Mike to believe him, to relax his stiff neck, to give just one goddamned inch. Why couldn’t he have done that? If he had, if his pride had allowed him that tiny concession, he would still possess one friend he could go to, someone with a sympathetic ear who could ease the crushing pain of this utter catastrophe of a day. Instead, he sat here alone, being swallowed by darkness.

“Shit,” he gasped. His chest felt as if it was jammed with shards of broken glass. He pulled in another shaky breath that felt as if it bloodied his insides as much going in as it did coming out.

Because there was nothing else he could do, he finally straightened, opened his eyes, grabbed the suitcase and garment bag stuffed with his suits, and forced himself up, and away.

He had to get the fuck away from here.

In the living room, he paused long enough for one last look around, and to wonder faintly if the apartment was cursed somehow. He’d bought it for his grandmother, who died before she ever saw it. He offered it to Rachel as a way of showing his commitment to her, and they’d spent a few months here, during which he had convinced himself that they were happy. And now his dreams of forever with her had been shattered and smashed into dust.

Maybe it wasn’t the apartment that was jinxed, he mused. Maybe it was Mike himself. Whatever the case, he was done living in stupid dreams. With trembling hands, he fumbled for his keys and spent long seconds fighting with the apartment key, finally managing to slide it free and set it on the mantle. He was done with this place. He would put it back on the market, sell it fully furnished to anyone looking for a readymade life to step into. They could eat off of his plates, enjoy the art and photographs on the walls, sit at his table, stretch out on his couch, and sleep in his bed. They were welcome to it, because he didn’t want it anymore.

His throat closed as a wave of self-pity tore through him. He rode it out, fighting it, refusing to succumb, even as darkness swirled again at the edges of his vision. He’d endured worse than this in his life, but today it was the sheer quantity of disasters that threatened to overwhelm him. If he took each thing separately, what did he see? Another failed relationship. Another career disappointment. Another need to move on and just fucking _deal._ He could do this…couldn’t he?

He took a step toward the door, paused, and went back to grab the framed panda print off the wall in the kitchen. He wasn’t sure why he’d chosen this, out of all the artefacts of his life that he could save. Maybe it was because it reminded him of his Grammy, and of Trevor, and Jenny, and Tess and even Harvey. The picture had been the one constant in his life for as long as he could remember. Which, as he realized this, only made him sadder than he’d already been. How could one tacky picture make up for all of the people he’d lost?

He kept his grip on the frame, though, and hauled it, and his suitcase, and garment bag to the front door. He juggled everything to get one hand free, and opened the door, only to freeze in surprise.

Harvey stood in the hallway, with his fist raised, as if he’d been about to knock – or submit to one of Mike’s fist bumps that he’d always seemed to find so annoying.

“Harvey? What – ?”

“I heard.”

Mike almost laughed out loud at that. The great, omniscient Harvey Specter had Mike all figured out, did he?

“What did you hear?” he asked, curious about which flaming asteroid of destruction in particular had brought him over here to check on Mike. He appeared unsurprised by the luggage Mike carried, so maybe it had to do with the Rachel/Logan debacle. Frankly, though, that seemed out of character for Harvey.

Harvey tilted his head to one side, expression solemn and concerned. “I heard you were having a shitty day. Why didn’t you call me?”

Mike set down the panda print and leaned it against the door frame. “I wasn’t sure we were still on speaking terms.”

And there were those eyes again. Sympathetic, knowing, dark and unreadable as a rip in the fabric of reality. “Why would you think that?”

Because Harvey didn’t do emotion? Because he believed caring made him weak? Even as the thoughts presented themselves, Mike discarded them as unworthy. He didn’t have the strength for their usual snark, and parry, and riposte. He slumped, exhaustion hitting him. “I don’t know anymore. I don’t remember.” He gave a strangled, aborted laugh at the irony of that remark. “Thank you. Thanks for coming over, but I’ve got a cab waiting downstairs.” Which might or might not be true. He’d called for one half an hour ago, but didn’t know if it had arrived yet.

“Where are going?”

“A hotel. I can’t stay here.”

“You’re not going to a hotel, Mike.”

“Harvey….”

“I’m taking you home with me.”

Mike could only gape at him, speechless. Harvey was offering him a place to stay? Had Mike gone to sleep last night and woken up this morning in an alternate universe? Harvey was waiting for an answer – or more accurately, an acquiescence – so with mouth still hanging open, Mike nodded. He even attempted a smile, but his face – and every other part of him – felt disconnected all of a sudden, as if he was just a jumble of random pieces, thrown together in a pile on the floor that needed to be puzzled over and carefully fitted back together by someone patient enough to take the time.

Harvey gently pried Mike’s fingers from the handle of the suitcase, and took it from him. Mike retrieved the panda print from the floor, and they walked out of there together, side by side. Harvey set his hand briefly on Mike’s shoulder as a show of support. Or maybe, thought Mike, barely daring to hope, it was also a promise of sorts. He glanced sideways at the other man, and found those dark eyes looking back at him, warm and brimming with emotions as varied and complex as the flavors in the scotch Harvey drank.

The sharp pain tearing up Mike’s insides didn’t disappear, but Harvey’s presence, and his touch, and especially his beautiful, depthless eyes, provided the first, faint whisper of relief, filtering slowly into his veins like merciful anesthesia, with the promise of more and stronger respite to come.

Mike took his first full, deep breath since Rachel’s confession. He took another, breathed in and breathed out, and kept doing it, because Harvey was beside him, and he wouldn’t stand for anything less.

**The End.**


	2. Different

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another reaction to the Massive Ick of S4 (Accursed Be Its Name), Ep. 15 in particular. At the time I wrote this, I was still dealing with S4 feelings. Since it was written before S5, it’s veered off the canon track. This is not a particularly happy story, and does not have a happy ending. So you've been warned. (No one dies, though.)

"Mike's different. We'd like to move him ahead a grade. Even then, we'll probably put him in his own, accelerated program."

Nina and James Ross exchanged nervous glances. “Won’t he feel singled out?” Nina finally asked. “He has so few friends as it is.”

Principal Davis shuffled some papers on her desk. “He has an exceptional mind. You wouldn’t want to hold him back, would you?”

“I suppose not.”

They signed off on the change.

******

"Well, that's different. I don't think I've ever seen a kid so young handle a tragedy this well. He's very mature for his age." Mrs. Gorman discarded a seven of clubs and picked up a new card. “So quiet and well-behaved. He’ll be a dream to raise.”

They both glanced over to where Mike sat in the corner of the couch, pretending to read _The Fellowship of the Ring._

"You think so?" asked Edith, sounding skeptical. "He's a good kid, but honestly, I think what you're seeing is shock, not poise."

Mike considered their words. Should he be throwing tantrums? Refusing to eat? Shoplifting beer from the corner store? None of that would bring back his parents. If that’s what normal kids did, he’d stick with being different.

******

"I like you. You're different," said the dark-haired boy. "My name's Trevor, by the way."

"Mike." He knew this was the part where he was supposed to invite him to play games, or watch television after school. This was the part he dreaded. "I...um.   My grandmother doesn't like me having people over when she's at work."

"What people?" Trevor's crooked smile made Mike's heart give a funny skip. "I'm not people. I'm me." He threw his arms out to the sides. "She's gonna love me."

******

“Grammy, I think I’m different.”

“What do you mean, Michael?”

He paused, and then got it all out in a rush. "I think I like boys better than girls and I'm sorry but that's just how it's going to be."

She gave him _that_ look -- blunt and exasperated and drenched with love. "You thought I didn't know? Michael...come here."

They hugged, and the world continued to turn.

******

"Mr. Ross, you're no different than the dozens of other cheaters we catch every year -- except none of them were foolish enough to approach my daughter with their little scheme. Just like them the rest of them, you’re expelled. The difference is that I'm also going to make sure you never get into Harvard." The dean smiled smugly across the desk. "Well, what do you know? I guess you're different after all."

******

"You're certainly different than all of those Harvard douches out in the waiting room."

Mike couldn't take his eyes off of Harvey Specter, the beautiful attorney with the slicked back hair who seemed unfazed by all of the pot that Mike had just spilled over his expensive shoes.   He thought he'd been in love before, but this was different. He was in … worship. Worship at first sight.

******

“And how is this any different than all of the questionable things you had _me_ do for you?” The indignant words burst out before Mike could stop them.

Harvey's response was immediate and brutal. “Because it's Donna. With Donna, it’s different!”

Mike froze, Harvey’s words slicing straight through flesh and cartilage and bone, like a weapon tossed carelessly, with lethal precision.

_How am I still standing?_ he wondered faintly. How was his heart still beating, when Harvey had just plunged the knife straight into its center? How was he still breathing when every bit of oxygen in the room had just rushed out?

Somehow, he hid the pain, and managed to recalibrate. He couldn't feel his lips and tongue and teeth moving, but he heard himself, heard his calm, lying voice offer whatever help Harvey needed to rescue Donna, to do whatever it took, to pull a rabbit out of the hat, to cut whatever corners needed to be cut.

Because Donna was Donna, with trumpet fanfare and choirs of angels singing her praise. She was Saint Donna, and he was merely…Mike. So, yes, it was different.

******

When all avenues of defense were exhausted, Donna – and by extension, Harvey – appeared to be backed into an impossible corner. Mike went to face Harvey in his office after another long day of running into brick wall after brick wall.

“I’m sorry, Harvey,” Mike announced flatly, feeling like an utter failure. “I looked everywhere, checked all possible precedents. I couldn’t find anything useful.”

The bleak, stony-visaged Harvey that Mike had been trying to placate for days, glared back at him. The next thing Mike knew, a stapler sailed past his head and shattered against the wall behind him. “God _damn_ it, Mike. I never thought you’d give up on me like this.”

“Don’t you mean, give up on Donna?” He didn’t wait for Harvey to reply, rushing to stave off another verbal -- or physical -- barrage . “I haven’t given up. I just don’t know what else there is to do.” That was a lie. There was one thing, one option which might work, but he’d held back mentioning it. He desperately wished to believe that Harvey would never allow it, but now, seeing the wrath and desolation on Harvey’s face, and the barely leashed violence … Perhaps he’d been wrong.

“Maybe,” Mike offered, voice hesitant. “There might be a way….”

As angry as Mike had seen Harvey on a few memorable occasions, this time was different. None of those other times compared to the white hot detonation of rage that exploded from Harvey now. “Mother _fucker_! You had better tell me this idea, whatever it is, popped into your head just this instant, because if you had a solution and withheld it from me for even one second, I swear to God – ” He’d risen to his feet, hands clenched into white-knuckled weapons, cheek twitching, and veins pulsing in his temples.

Mike took a step back, as if that would get him far enough out of range if Harvey came at him. He wanted to hit right back at Harvey, to yell about the hours he’d been putting in, the sleep lost, meals skipped, nerves stretched to the breaking point as he struggled to save Harvey's precious Donna.

He didn’t say any of that. Harvey knew it all already. Mike didn’t try to defend himself, he just laid out his strategy in four quiet, simple words: “Trade Donna for me.”

“ _What_?” Harvey croaked out, voice going almost comically high-pitched. “Trade her for – ” He broke off as realization dawned. “Mike, you can’t do that.”

Hearing those words, Mike was prepared to be relieved, grateful, even forgiving, but then Harvey added, “You’ll implicate me, Donna, Jessica, the whole firm. Are you out of your mind?”

_Oh, yes. Probably._ “No. Just listen to me for a second. I’ll tell them that you never knew about my lack of credentials, that I fooled you, and everyone else. Wolfe can check the Harvard website. It’s all there, just like Lola forged it. And maybe the firm will suffer a little, but only as the punchline to in-jokes from other firms. You might lose a few clients, but you'll recover quickly enough. All you have to say is that you hired me in good faith, and keep saying it, no matter what they throw at you. Get everyone to stick to the story. Simple. Don’t you think a fraud attorney, who has been practicing at one of the most prestigious law firms in the city for years, will be worth more to them than a legal secretary who fudged the truth a little, one time?”

“No, Mike." Even while he voiced his objection, Harvey’s gaze remained fixed on the floor, as if he his mind was sorting and sifting and working out the odds and possibilities. He shook his head. "I told you before, I’m not giving you up. Get it out of your head. Think of the consequences. If you go through with this, you’ll almost certainly do jail time. With the hard-on Wolfe has for me and the firm, I think you can pretty much count on it.”

“Give me another option." He waited, but Harvey said nothing. "Okay then. This is the choice. It’s me or Donna. Either I go to jail, or she does. And as you so eloquently stated not that long ago, Donna is different.” _She matters in ways that I never will._

Now Harvey appeared puzzled. He scowled back at Mike, shaking his head. “I never said that." His brows furrowed further. "Did I? Frankly, I don’t know what’s come out of my mouth these past few days.”

"If you need a replay, I've got it all up here." Mike tapped his temple. He could have pointed at his chest as well, but now was not the time to give any of those inconvenient emotions away. Now was the time to button them all up, to shove them in an ironbound box, attach a padlock, and drop them into the deepest ocean. Because, he determined all at once, he was doing this, no matter what weak objections Harvey might put forward in an attempt to dissuade him.

******

Once, not that long ago, Harvey had refused to give up Mike's secret, and had been prepared to demonstrate his loyalty, and had stated his willingness to sacrifice himself in place of Mike.

Now, today, with Donna's future on the line, things were different. Harvey did not withdraw his objections to Mike's plan, but neither did he drive the point home, or give his patented Harvey pep talk about how _we're going to get this solved one way or another, and fuck the gun with all the bullets pointed at your head, we're going to pull some crazy ninja shit and turn this thing around._

Instead, he walked to the window, and stayed there, back turned to Mike, as if he couldn't look at him -- or didn't dare. Mike thought he understood. Harvey wanted Mike to make the sacrifice, and later Harvey could protest (to anyone who might care) that he'd tried to talk Mike out of it. It seemed that, like Mike, he'd weighed up the injustice of jailing Donna, against the complete, absolute, long overdue justice of punishing Mike, and had come to the same conclusion.

Donna was different. She didn’t deserve it. Mike did.

******

On some level, Mike had always assumed it would come to this eventually. Every day that he'd been allowed to come in to work with Harvey, and Donna, and Rachel had been another stolen moment from a life that didn't belong to him. His sojourn with Sidwell had given him hope -- false hope as it turned out -- but he'd ended up back here, as if fate had ordained this long ago. And whatever resentment he might have for Donna, and the superior place she held in the hierarchy of Harvey's affections, he knew that she would not survive this intact.

Mike would. He'd do the perp walk, and plead guilty, and accept whatever sentence was handed down. Life had been handing down sentences to him on a regular basis for years. What was one more? It was only temporary. Four years tops. He'd survive. He'd figure this out.

Because he was different.

**The End**


	3. No Snow Angels Allowed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We were experiencing a lengthy hot spell in my part of the world, so I started this story in an attempt to visualize some cooler weather. It’s mostly G rated, except for all the cussing. Season 1.

Later, Mike would blame it all on the Butterbeer briefs. These were actually the Barrabetierre briefs, but he'd taken to renaming them in his head. (Once, he accidentally used the wrong name in front of Harold, who had giggled so hard his ruddy complexion went an alarming shade of purple.)

Mike had been holed up in one of the more remote work rooms for nearly the entire day and half of the night, proofing the briefs, highlighting and making notes on the seemingly endless avalanche of paper. The room had no windows, and he had his earbuds plugged into his phone, blasting a playlist he'd put together of high octane seventies funk. He refrained from shimmying or chair dancing, and let all the frenetic, rhythmic energy of the music mix with the gallons of Red Bull coursing through his veins to fuel his concentration and ignite his brain cells.

He was on fire. He zipped through ream after ream of dense legalese, nearly catching up with the printer before it finally shuddered to an exhausted stop and spit out the last few pages. Mike collected the final stack, made short work of it, stood, and rewarded himself with a brief session of head bobbing and ass shaking to the Ohio Players, after which he gave his favorite highlighter a victory spike against the tabletop.

Yee-haw. Done and done. Time to head home.

He shot off emails to Rachel and Harvey and Louis to inform them that he'd finished, and to also point out a few of the more egregious blunders he'd discovered. Then he grabbed his coat, settled his messenger bag across his chest, turned out the lights and braced himself for a chilly bike ride home.   The floor appeared deserted. None of the usual batch of insomniac workaholics hunched over their desks this night. A peek at his phone told him it was after one in the morning, which might explain the emptiness.

He rode the elevator down to street level -- the express, for once. He waved at the security guard, pushed his way through the glass door and onto the sidewalk -- and froze in wide-eyed amazement. While he'd been sequestered forty-seven floors up, swimming in Butterbeer, the world had transformed into a beautiful, eerily silent, stark white wonderland.

At least half a foot of snow blanketed the streets, turned bare tree branches into lacy sculptures, frosted newsstands and parked cars, and tarp-covered food carts. Sheltered by the building overhang, Mike looked up and down the street. The city, it seemed -- at least this corner of it -- had shut down due to the weather. Even the taxis had fled the area, probably waiting for the snowplows to swing through and make the streets passable again.

Had he left a little later, he likely would have found a churned up mess of snow already going grimy with exhaust fumes. His timing was perfect. Flakes, small but plentiful, continued to drift down from the sky. He experienced an unfamiliar wave of exhilaration and childlike delight at the scene, and was gripped by a sudden urge to clomp out onto the pristine white of the street, to stake his claim with a trail of footprints, and then whirl in circles, arms out and face up to catch snowflakes on his tongue.

As he was imagining this, he spotted his bike, chained to the bike rack, solitary and snow-clogged, and his shoulders slumped. How the hell was he supposed to get home? He couldn't ride the bike, or take a non-existent cab over unplowed streets, and taking the subway at this time of night was a risky choice.

His delight, and Red Bull buzz, and residual funk energy all drained away at once, leaving him cold and exhausted. It looked like he'd be spending the night at the firm, subsisting on vending machine dreck, instead of polishing off the leftover Thai food in his refrigerator at home. Well, he thought, fuck it. He'd slept on the workroom floor before, and he could do it again.

He turned around, away from the snowscape, and nearly collided with Harvey Specter, who was just exiting the building.

"Shit," said Mike, by way of apology, shuffling back out of the way. "Hey. You're still here?"

Even after nearly three months working for the man, Mike felt nervous and shy in his presence -- and as if he regressed to about twelve years old. Harvey Specter was an impressive man. A powerful man. A perfect man, as far as Mike could tell. In fact the only flaw he could discern, and the only mistake he'd seen Harvey commit, was his decision to hire Mike.

Regardless of how this all played out, Mike would always be grateful that Harvey had given him a chance. Mixed in with the gratitude, and with the constant, low-level fear of failure, was gnawing guilt. Harvey had put himself at risk for Mike, and as hard as Mike worked to earn his respect, he couldn't seem to stop making stupid, humiliating mistakes which, time after time, brought the scorn back into Harvey's beautiful, judging eyes.

Yep, there it was now, that look that told Mike he couldn't be more of an idiot if he tried.

"Obviously," Harvey replied. He stopped, like Mike had minutes earlier, surveyed the scene, and sighed. "Well, shit. Ray wasn't kidding."

Ray, Mike knew, was Harvey's personal driver. He must have warned Harvey that he couldn't pick him up tonight. So here he was, stranded just like a regular person. Just like Mike.

Mike managed to untie his tongue enough to stutter, "Uh, I was just...." He pointed at the building. "I was going back inside." He grinned, screwing up his courage. "Want to split a box of Milk Duds? My treat."

Harvey frowned, shaking his head as if Mike had made yet another unforgivable blunder. He surprised him, though, by gesturing out at the street and asking, "You'd hide away upstairs and miss all this? This is a rare opportunity, Mike. Fresh snow. God, just look around. It's almost like we have the city to ourselves."

"Yeah, well...." It _was_ pretty, but all the flawless snow in the world would do nothing to alleviate the growling in his stomach. "I skipped dinner, and lunch for that matter, to get those Butterbeer briefs done."

"Those _what?_ "

"Um. Barrabetierre. Isn't that what I said? Anyway, the point is, I'm hungry, so...."

Harvey sighed again, sending a puff of white into the air between them. "Hang on." He pulled out his phone, made a quick, terse call, and shoved it back into his pocket. " _Walter's All Nite Diner_ is still open. They're only three blocks away. Think you can make it that far without fainting from hunger?"

" _Walter's All Nite Diner_?"

"Sorry. It's no _Leaky Cauldron,_ but their sandwiches aren't half bad."

Mike nearly choked on his surprised laugh. "Really, Harvey? Harry Potter?"

"Shut up. You started it. Now make up your mind. You in or not?"

Fascinated by this suddenly approachable version of Harvey, Mike nodded. "Lead the way."

Crunching down the sidewalk, feet sinking ankle deep into fresh snow, Mike followed Harvey. He scraped a handful of snow from the roof of a parked car, getting an idea which was immediately shut down by Harvey.

"No snowballs, kid."

"What? Just picture it. A snowball fight right down the middle of Madison Avenue. That would be epic."

"No, what that would be is immature and childish. No snowballs. No catching snowflakes on your tongue. And most of all, no snow angels."

"Bah. I'll bet you were sorted Slytherin. You're no fun."

Harvey shook his head, mouth pinched together. "Keep it up and I'll uninvite you."

"You wouldn't. This is a crisis. People band together in a crisis. Neighbor helping neighbor."

"This is not a crisis. If it were, it's people like you who'd be shot for food. You'd be the first to be turned by zombies."

"Would not."

"Sure you would. That ugly motherfucker would lurch up to you, and you'd be all like, 'Hey there fella. You doing okay? Need a hand?' And he'd bite the shit out of you. Probably chomp off your hand first, just out of mindless zombie irony."

Mike gave an annoyed huff. Harvey thought he had him all figured out, did he? "Just because I'm nice, that doesn't mean I'm a pushover." His foot slipped slightly and he had to grab onto Harvey for balance. He let go right away when he saw the sideways glare Harvey shot him.

"You have no killer instinct." Harvey said it mildly, but Mike heard the disapproval in his words.

"And that's a bad thing?" No reply from Harvey. "Aren't we supposed to be enjoying the snow?"

Before Harvey could answer, they heard a distant rumble, moving closer. The snowplows were approaching.

"Better enjoy it fast," said Harvey. He planted one foot, and pivoted to look behind them, probably to gauge how far the plows were, and how soon they would catch up to them.

Mike saw it happening, but there was nothing he could do to prevent it. As Harvey spun around, his foot caught on something underneath the snow, or perhaps just slipped on a patch of ice left over from that morning. His planted foot shot out from under him, his arms wind milled wildly (but with elegance), and then he landed on his back with a wet _ploomp._

Mike stared down at Harvey's surprised face, ordering himself not to laugh. It was a near thing, and made even more difficult when he forced out, between quivering lips, "I thought you said no snow angels."

Harvey sat up and glared at Mike. The corners of his mouth curled up in an almost comical expression. He got one foot on the ground, tried to stand, slipped again, and looked for a moment as if he wanted to lie down in the snow and just say _fuck it all._ He didn't lie down. He held out his gloved hand and said, "Well? Can you stop staring long enough to help me up?"

"Oh, sure. Sure, sure."

Mike offered Harvey his hand, taking it in his chilled, ungloved one. Even through the expensive leather, he could feel the heat of Harvey's hand, which was…distracting. As Harvey began to rise to his feet, he fell prey once more to the slippery sidewalk and sat in the snow again. He didn't let go of Mike's hand, who toppled forward, pushing Harvey onto his back and pinning him down with his body.

"Ooph," grunted Harvey.

Mike couldn't help it. He let out a guffaw, even as his hands gripped Harvey's shoulders and his leg slipped in between Harvey's. He could feel Harvey's cold cheek underneath his own.

"Mike." Harvey's voice sounded strained.

"I know. I'm sorry." He rolled to the side, off of Harvey, until they lay side by side, staring up at the falling snow. Neither spoke for a few seconds. Mike stretched one arm straight out to the side. The arm next to Harvey he stretched up over his head. He swung his arms in half circles, opened and closed his legs, bumping against Harvey, and laughed helplessly. "Snow angels. Come on, Harvey, you know you want to."

"You're an idiot."

"Do it. I'll never tell." He rolled over once, away from Harvey, giving them both enough room.

"Jesus," griped Harvey, "you don't even know what's on this sidewalk, underneath all the snow."

Mike ignored him, flapping his arms and legs, snow angelling for all he was worth. He shut his eyes and let the snow catch on his tongue. Maybe it was the long day, or the lack of food, or the abundance of caffeine, but for a few minutes he simply did not care.   He felt like a kid again. Like his parents had never died. Like Grammy remained healthy and as sharp and sassy as ever. Like the world was still fresh and new and perfect, and the possibilities were limitless. He flapped and flapped, part of him perhaps wishing he could take flight, and leave his complicated life behind.

"Mike." Now Harvey's voice was softer, almost concerned, and came from above Mike. "Mike. That's enough. Stop it."

Mike's arms and legs slowed and then stopped. He stared straight up, blinking and blinking, his chest heaving. He saw a gloved hand hovering over the tip of his nose. He grabbed onto it, and let himself be hauled back to his feet. He couldn't meet Harvey's eyes, and busied himself brushing snow off of his coat and straightening his messenger bag.

Harvey waited in silence for Mike to get himself put back together, and then started walking again. Mike hesitated, reflecting on what an utter fool he'd made of himself. Again. He sighed and turned to go after Harvey. Something caught his eye, and he turned back around, staring down at the ground.

There, right next to each other, were two perfectly executed snow angels. One was a little wild and reckless and gouged deep, while the other appeared precise and restrained, but beautiful nonetheless. Mike swallowed around a lump in his throat, smiled, and wiped at his eyes.

He glanced at Harvey, who was moving rapidly away, and then back at the approaching snowplow. He fumbled for his phone and clicked off a few pictures of the two snow angels before they were obliterated.

Because he wanted documentary evidence, preserved and available to future generations, commemorating the exact moment when he fell in love with Harvey Specter.

 

**The End.**


	4. Not Moving On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in the midst of S5, before we knew who the snitch was. Harvey's musings about who it was, not unlike my own, are completely off the mark.

Harvey had been gone all day, conducting depositions across town, with his phone turned off.  When he finally made it back to the office after seven, the whole thing was over.  Gretchen had been considerate enough to stick around to give him a recap.  She could only give him the bare bones, which wasn't her fault.  She didn't have the full backstory. 

"Mike and Rachel are gone," were the first words out of her mouth as she followed him into his office. 

Harvey shrugged, dropping into his chair, not yet understanding.  "Good for them.  They deserve an early night."   

He meant what he said.  It might help them get back on track.  He -- and anyone else who cared to look -- had seen the tension building between them the last few weeks.  He'd never asked either Mike or Rachel what it was about.  Half of him selfishly hoped they'd work past it because of the awkwardness.  The other half of him even more selfishly hoped the relationship would blow up, leaving Mike a free agent, and giving Harvey back the chance he'd missed during Mike's first year. 

"Mr. Specter."  Gretchen paused, and then sat down across from him, sympathy warming her eyes.  "Harvey.  When I say they're gone, I mean...gone, as in not coming back." 

Disbelief rendered him numb enough to continue conversing, to remain calm and rational -- at least on the surface.  "I don't understand."  He gave a half-hearted laugh.  "Don't tell me they eloped." 

Gretchen looked uncomfortable.  "No, not that.  No one really knows what happened.  Robert Zane arrived not long after you left.  Anyone could see that he was furious.  Nancy -- that's Wenkman's assistant, who sits closest to...the action, I suppose you'd call it -- saw him storm into Mike's office and all but take a swing at him." 

Harvey stood slowly, incredulous gaze fixed on Gretchen.  "He hit Mike?" 

"No.  Rachel stopped him, grabbed his arm and got him to sit down and talk.  The door was closed, so nobody knows exactly what was said.  There was a lot of yelling, that much was obvious -- mostly directed at Mike by Mr. Zane.  Rachel cried.  Nancy says Mike nearly broke down and cried, too.  Mostly, though, he just looked shocked.  Shell-shocked and ill." 

"Sounds like Nancy had a front row seat to the fireworks," he said acidly.  "Did she share any other delicious observations with you?" 

"Yes she did, as a matter of fact.  Jessica joined them after about half an hour, and she and Mr. Zane went at it like a couple of heavyweight fighters -- figuratively speaking, that is.  This conference, or discussion, or argument -- whatever it was -- lasted for close to two hours.  They must have come to some type of understanding, because they all wound down eventually.   

“Mike left first.  He barreled out of there like a freight train, looking like he was half a second away from puking his guts out.  Then Jessica went back to her office, calm and cool as ever.  Rachel and her father stuck around longer.  He did most of the talking, laying down the law, it looked like, with Rachel nodding, grim as death.  They left separately a few hours ago." 

"Okay," he said.  "Okay."  His brain was grinding furiously, trying to formulate a strategy, some way to fix this, whatever it was, but he needed more information.  "Is Jessica still here?" 

"She's waiting for you in her office." 

"Thank you.  Thanks for sticking around.  Why don't you take off?" 

She stood up, but hesitated, as if trying to decide how much to say.  "I know he meant a lot to you, Harvey.  I hope things work out." 

What was that supposed to mean?  She couldn't know.  Could she?  As he watched her collect her coat and handbag from her desk, he concluded that she probably could.  They were still feeling one another out, but he'd already deduced that she could be every bit as prescient as Donna -- and even more scarily efficient. 

Struggling to keep his thoughts off of Mike and what he was going through right now -- because that way led to punched walls and bloody knuckles -- Harvey headed to Jessica's office.  He needed more information.  He needed to know what in the hell had gone on today.  He turned on his phone and thumbed through the texts, finding several from Jessica and Gretchen.  None from Mike. 

Jessica was already well into the liquor, which didn't surprise him.  "Sit," she said, voice terse, and gestured to the bottle of scotch sitting on the low table in front of her.   

Harvey sat next to her on the couch and poured himself a double.  He drank off half of it in one sacrilegious gulp.  Marginally fortified, he rasped out, "Tell me." 

"Robert Zane found out about Mike."  To anyone else, she might have sounded perfectly serene, but Harvey could hear the deeper, richer notes of rage, and revenge and _I will cut a bitch_ vibrating underneath the surface calm. 

The news took a moment to sink in, like a hard punch to the sternum, or a terminal diagnosis delivered without warning.  He took a sip of scotch, forcibly concentrating on each separate flavor that chased across his tongue.  "Who?" he finally asked, even as he cataloged all of the possibilities in his mind. 

At the firm, six people knew Mike's secret:  Harvey, Donna, Jessica, Rachel, Louis, and Mike himself. He could not imagine one of them sharing it with an outsider, not even Louis.  Except…. 

Beyond the firm's boundaries, three people knew, and – _oh shit_ – Harvey was responsible for one, and possibly two of those breaches.  He’d told Scottie as part of his bid to get her to stay.  That hadn’t turned out so well.  Professor Gerard had figured it out, and Harvey had confirmed it.  And Lola Jensen, the hacker who had fixed Mike’s online Harvard history, knew the full story. 

He doubted either Lola or Professor Gerard would take the trouble to contact Robert Zane with the information.  Would Scottie?  Had she been out there, plotting with Harvey’s enemies, planning his downfall, Mike’s downfall, the entire firm’s downfall?  He didn’t want to think so, and dismissed that possibility for the moment. 

Jessica was waiting for a response.  He finished off his drink, and held up a warding hand when Jessica offered more.  “Is Zane taking this to the DA?  Or the Bar Association?” 

She shook her head.  “Neither.  He came here to cut a deal.” 

“ _What_?” 

Jessica looked so angry that dollar signs, followed by copious zeroes, paraded through Harvey’s mind.  He wasn’t prepared for her actual response.  “Mike had to agree to break his engagement with Rachel and not see her again.  His employment here has been terminated.  He’d be at home packing up his things right now if the apartment didn’t belong to him.” 

“But….”  Changing his mind, Harvey reached for the bottle and poured himself another generous portion.  “Surely Rachel objected?” 

“At first.  But Robert was clear.  They could remain together, and he would have Mike – and the rest of us most likely – brought up on charges.  I think if it hadn’t been for that second part, and the fact that Rachel refused to let him go to prison, Mike might have stood firm.” 

Harvey took a quick drink.  “God damn it.  God damn Robert Zane.  So Mike took the deal.  What if Zane changes his mind?” 

“He won’t, because if he did, I would produce the letter that I had him sign, dated today, acknowledging that he knew Mike was a fraud.” 

Harvey gave a bitter laugh.  “Another unwilling addition to our little circle jerk of trust.”  He drank again.  “Please tell me you got him to reveal who leaked the information?” 

“He claims he worked it out on his own.  His wife couldn't figure out why Mike wouldn't budge on thwarting her grand wedding plans, and Robert called him on it.” 

“Let me guess.  He bluffed Mike into admitting it.” 

“Got it in one.  For a genius that kid can be thick sometimes.” 

Harvey waited until they’d each finished off another shot before pointing out the obvious.  “If Zane signed that letter, we’re protected.  Mike can still come back and work at the firm anytime.” 

Jessica sighed.  “No he can’t.  They negotiated in good faith.  Mike Ross is not going to go back on his word.” 

“I could talk him into it.” 

“But you’re not going to do that, because I don’t believe for one second that Robert Zane figured this out on his own.” 

Harvey surged to his feet and stalked to the window, glaring down at the tiny headlights in the streets below.  “Louis figured it out.  You don’t think Zane has more smarts than him?” 

“Louis figured it out because of a fluke.  Everyone else had to be told.  So do you want to tell me again about Louis’s lack of smarts?  No?  That’s what I thought.  Now, I’ve already asked everyone at this firm who knew – Louis, Donna, Rachel, even Mike – who they shared this with.  Each of them insisted that they hadn’t, except for Mike, who told Rachel, and Lola Jensen, and Clifford Danner.” 

Harvey’s head came up and he stared at Jessica’s reflection in the window.  “Danner?  When did he tell Danner?” 

Jessica waved him off.  “What does it matter?  I can’t see either of them trying to sabotage Mike.  So now you tell me:  who did you share this with?” 

“Just….”  Harvey swallowed hard and turned around to face his partner.  “I told Scottie.” 

A grimace came and went on her face, and she shook her head.  “That was not smart.” 

“I had to.  She backed me into a corner.  I was trying to convince her to stay.” 

Now Jessica looked truly angry, which was confirmed when her voice dropped to almost a whisper.  “And how did that work out for you?”  Her face twitched once before she regained control.  “Do you know what I told Jeff when he called me out and asked me point blank what I was hiding?  I lied, Harvey.  I made up some bullshit story, and he saw right through it.  Thank you, though.  Thank you for confirming that I did the right thing.” 

Harvey had no ready defense.  “I made a mistake.  But I don’t think this is coming from Scottie.” 

“That’s not the point.  This lie – this goddamned _felony_ – is like a fucking disease.  It’s like Ebola, or the new Spanish flu.  It infects everyone.  It’s jumped the quarantine area and entered the world.  And it’s just such a delicious story, isn’t it?  Who knows who Dana Scott whispered it to, or Danner, or Lola Jensen?  They have no skin in this game.  It’s not their lives and business at stake, it’s just gossip.” 

“Or Professor Gerard.” 

“What?” 

“Ethics professor at Harvard.  He knows too.  He figured it out, and I didn’t deny it.” 

“Jesus Christ,” she groaned.  “We are fucked.  Every damn one of us is completely, irrevocably fucked.” 

He might have argued with her, have given detailed, cogent reasons why each holder of the secret would not share it around to their friends, but the truth was he was too distracted.  All throughout their discussion, part of his thoughts had been focused on Mike.  Where was he right now?  How was he feeling?  What stupid, unthinking action might he take after losing both Rachel and his job in one shattering blow? 

“Jessica,” he said, gentling his tone, “it’s going to be all right.  We’ll figure this out, just like we’ve always done.  I….I’m sorry I set all this in motion.  If anyone at the firm ends up taking the fall for this, it will be me, and me alone, understood?” 

She shook her head slowly.  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” 

*** 

Soon afterwards, Harvey made his excuses and left.  In the town car, he directed Ray to Mike’s apartment.  He stood at the intercom and hit the button over and over, but nobody answered.  Stepping back to the edge of the sidewalk, he craned his neck upwards and discovered that all of the windows were dark in the fifth floor corner.  Five minutes later, he shadowed another tenant into the building and took the elevator up to Mike’s floor. 

Several minutes of loud knocking brought no response.  He knew Mike was in there.  He _knew_ it.  The kid didn’t want to see him, and he supposed he could understand that, but Mike had to know that he wasn’t alone. 

Placing his lips close to the edge of the door, fingers tracing down the crack as if trying to gain enough leverage to rip it open, Harvey spoke in what he hoped was a loud enough voice to be heard on the other side. 

“Mike.  We have to talk.  Open the goddamned door.”  Harvey imagined he could hear breathing coming through from the other side, although that might have been his own agitated breaths, echoing back at him.  “We’ll figure this out.  I promise.”   

Even though he’d said the same thing to Jessica, he recognized it for the bluster it was.  He had no earthly idea how to fix this for Mike. 

He gave it another minute, knocking steadily.  “Fine.  You don’t want to see me right now.  I get that.  I’m leaving, but if I don’t hear from you before tomorrow morning, I’m coming back and breaking down this door.” 

Still he hesitated, debating.  Was it wise to leave without satisfying himself that Mike was all right?  He reminded himself that Mike was a grown man who was free to make his own choices.  Finally, he turned to leave, vowing to himself that he’d make good on his promise and return in the morning. 

*** 

“I don’t know,” argued Mr. Faber, the building manager, “I can’t just go entering a residence without a reason.  There are procedures to follow.  I normally give forty-eight hours’ notice, minimum.” 

“That’s not soon enough.”  Harvey wanted to howl with frustration.  Mike hadn’t called, and hadn’t responded to any of his calls or texts.  A sickly premonition of doom had been growing in Harvey since the night before.  He’d slept poorly, suffered through half-remembered nightmares, and now he had to deal with this rule-following zealot.  Remembering his promise from last night, he tried again.  “You can either unlock the door, or you can go through the time and expense of repairing it after I break it down.  Your choice.” 

Grumbling incoherently under his breath, the manager inserted his master key in the lock, turned the knob, pushed the door open and gestured with an exaggerated flourish of his arm.  “Make yourself at home,” he sneered, and stomped off back to the elevator.” 

Harvey moved to the threshold.  “Mike?” he called softly.  There was no reply, so he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.  It was still nearly dark outside, and in here it was close to pitch black.  He fumbled at the wall near the door until he located a light switch, and turned it on, which was fortunate, because directly in front of him was a matched set of Louis Vuitton luggage, packed and bulging at the sides.  If he’d taken a step in the dark, he would have tripped over the tidy arrangement. 

It had to belong to Rachel, he deduced.  He couldn’t picture Mike forking over the money to buy matched luggage, let alone Louis Vuitton.  This told him Mike had come back here, at least.  If Rachel had packed up all her things, she would have taken them with her.   

He stood frozen in place for nearly a full minute, listening for any sounds in the apartment to tell him Mike was still here.  At first, he heard nothing, and the sick feeling with which he’d woken up this morning spread from his belly to his chest.  “Mike?” he queried again, pitching his voice more loudly, not liking the edge of panic he clearly heard in it. 

Something hit the floor with a muted thud in another room, and Harvey’s eyes fluttered closed as he breathed out slowly.  The rush of relief he experienced took him by surprise.  Mike was still here.  Taking care to keep his steps slow and measured, he walked toward the bedroom. 

“Mike?” he murmured for a third time.  “It’s me.  I came to see how you’re doing.” 

When he pushed the door open, he caught a glimpse of long legs, slim hips, and pale, round bottom before Mike yanked a sheet up to cover himself.  He eyed Harvey over one shoulder, and then lazily rolled over onto his back, keeping a grip on the sheet to keep it in place.  “I obviously tipped Mr. Faber too little last Christmas,” he drawled, and that was so Mike, not asking _what, how_ _,_ _why,_ but piecing it all together in an instant, and coming back with a quip. 

Harvey leaned against the door jamb and gave Mike a slow perusal.  He looked okay, except that the usual sparkle in his eyes wasn’t there, and neither was the hint of a smile that normally hovered around the edges of his mouth.  His hair lay in a messy tousle on his head, and a dark shadow of scruff roughened his cheeks and chin.  An empty bottle of beer lay on the ground –just the one, which was reassuring.  Now that Harvey thought about it, this was probably what he’d heard hit the floor earlier. 

Not waiting for an invitation, he strolled further into the room, and leaned over to scoop up the bottle, which he set on the nightstand.  He clicked on the lamp, and stared down at Mike.  “Faber put up a valiant fight, but I threatened to bust your door down.” 

“Twenty dollars would have done the job as well.” 

“You never called.  You never texted.” 

Mike pressed his lips together and looked away.  “There didn’t seem any point.  What’s done is done.” 

Harvey sat on the edge of the bed, resolutely ignoring the naked flesh just an arm’s reach away.  “Say the word and I’ll fight this with you.” 

Mike ran a hand through his wild hair, ruffling it up even more.  “No.  I’ve had a little time to think, and this is for the best.” 

“But…Rachel?” 

Mike leaned back against the pillows, both hands interlaced atop his head.  “She’ll never admit it, but I think on some level she’s relieved.  The thought of marriage – of that theoretical ‘forever’ – threw our secret into stark, frightening relief for her.” 

“And what about you?” 

Mike shrugged, suddenly looker older and more cynical than Harvey remembered.  “Back to my shiftless life, I guess.  I’ll sell this place, which will give me some breathing space.  Maybe I’ll leave the city.  I supposedly have a couple of distant cousins in Seattle.  I might go look them up.”  He met Harvey’s gaze, and smiled crookedly.  “Once I start moving, I might never stop.  I mean, I’m free now.  What’s holding me here anymore, right?” 

And didn’t that cut deep?  Harvey strove to hide his hurt at Mike’s apparent dismissal of him, and nearly missed the careful, hopeful look Mike gave him before dropping his eyes.  He did see it though, as he never failed to notice anything where the younger man was concerned.  What to do about it though?  How to interpret it? 

“Mike,” he began, feeling his way with care, “what is it you’d like to do with your life?  Ruling out the law, and investment banking, of course.” 

Mike appeared to consider this seriously, idling scratching at his chest. 

Despite his best efforts, Harvey’s eyes avidly traced the path and movements of Mike’s hand.  

“You know what?” Mike finally announced.  “I just want to be happy.” 

“You haven’t been happy?” 

“Uh, sure, if you call hanging on by my fingernails to a job I didn’t deserve, and a life that was never meant for me, being happy, then sure.  But I wouldn’t call it that.  I never had time for actual happiness.  Maybe sometimes, when I was Rachel, when it was just the two of us, I could pretend, but there was always this shadow there between us.  Even if her father hadn’t come at me with his ultimatum, we wouldn’t have made it to the wedding.  We both knew it.” 

“The shadow of your lie, you mean.”  Mike’s mention of Rachel caused Harvey to picture them here, in this bed, tangled up together.  He realized he was frowning, and had to force himself to smooth his expression. 

Mike stared at him, eyes wide and incredulous.  “You’re joking, right?”  When Harvey didn’t respond, he shook his head.  “Oh come on, Harvey, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” 

But he didn’t.  Was there something else Mike had kept from him? 

“The shadow,” said Mike, voice soft as he scooted to the edge of the bed to sit next to Harvey (barely managing to keep himself covered with the sheet), “was you.” 

“The – _what_?”  The simple confession seemed to freeze Harvey’s brain for long seconds.  What was Mike saying?  Were they finally having this conversation? 

Apparently they were, because, “Don’t you dare try to pretend you never felt it,” Mike whispered.  And he kissed Harvey.  Just like that.  Just leaned closer and covered Harvey’s mouth with his and slid his tongue between Harvey’s lips and kissed him, soft and slow, stale beer morning breath and all. 

Harvey kissed him back.  It wasn’t out of surprise.  It wasn’t in order to be polite.  It was the result of years of wanting and hiding and deflecting and never ever, not once, believing they would ever get here.  Eventually, he found himself sprawled out on top of Mike, one hand holding his face steady so he could plunder at will, and the other hand tracing the dip next to Mike’s hip bone, over and over, where the sheet had slipped off and given him access. 

He came up for air and gazed wonderingly down at Mike’s flushed cheeks and half-closed eyes.  “No more shadows,” Harvey murmured.  “No more lies.” 

“Deal.”  Mike grinned lazily up at him.  “I am going to Seattle, though.” 

“Okay.  Just make sure you find your way back.” 

“I will.  Or….” 

“Or?” 

“Or you could take an actual vacation and come with me.” 

Harvey considered the coming fallout from Mike’s departure, and the possibility of future attacks on the firm that he’d discussed with Jessica.  He’d just said no lies, and he meant it, but he’d wait to share those worries with Mike, for at least another day or two.  Maybe getting out of town was the wisest course of action.  Who knew?  Maybe, as Mike had mused earlier, once they’d started moving they’d never stop.  And maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. 

“Deal,” he said, and sealed it with a kiss. 

**The End**  


	5. Sweet Forgiveness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harvey makes a confession to Mike that might destroy their relationship.
> 
> Contains angst and partner betrayal.

Mike’s blue eyes – which normally shone with humor and affection and mischief – right at this moment gazed back at Harvey, cloudy with confusion and slowly dawning betrayal. 

“I don’t … Harvey, what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying – "  God, he didn’t want to do this.  He owed Mike honesty, however, so he forced the words out between lips that had grown numb.  "I’m saying, I spent the night with Scottie, in her hotel room."  In case that hadn’t been clear enough, he added into the heavy silence, "We slept together.  I cheated on you with Scottie.” 

Mike’s complexion turned chalky, and his breathing hitched, noisy and erratic, in the air between them.  “After the things you said to me on Christmas?  I mean, shit, no one forced those declarations out of you."  He dragged a hand through his hair, sending it into disarray.  "I never – not once – objected to our long term fuck buddy status.  I never asked for an upgrade.  That was all you.” 

Harvey’s chest felt tight and sore, as if a Corsican-esque connection had formed between his, and Mike’s newly bruised and aching heart.  He began shaking his head back and forth, slow and even as a metronome, and couldn’t seem to stop.  “It was a mistake.” 

He meant that sleeping with Scottie was the mistake, but of course Mike took it the wrong way.  He stood abruptly, blue eyes gleaming with unshed tears, and Harvey regretted not waiting to tell him until after they had left the office.  Mike held up his hands to ward Harvey off – even though he hadn’t made a move toward him – opened his mouth, closed it, and then whirled and headed for the door. 

“Wait.  Mike … "  But it was too late.  Mike was gone.  

Harvey couldn’t blame him.  He’d fucked up.  Scottie had been his awful drug of choice for too long.  He’d thought it was in the past, but he’d relapsed.  Too much scotch had muddled his thoughts and eroded his good intentions.  Scottie's warm, eager body and familiar floral scent tipped him across the line and over the edge. 

All the times they'd fallen back into the same pattern before, he’d brushed it off, sent her packing, if she didn’t send him packing first, and they moved on.  Now, however, Mike had been hurt because of Harvey’s weakness, and he didn’t know how to fix it.  In that moment, he believed he’d ruined things between them forever. 

_You’re just like your mother after all._  

The voice in his head could have been his father’s, or Donna’s, or Mike’s, or his own.  Perhaps it was all of them, blended together into a cacophonous chorus of disappointment.  He massaged his forehead in a useless attempt to silence the echoing condemnation.  He reached for the decanter of scotch on his credenza, poured a glass, and then another, and another. 

*** 

Harvey’s office remained an oasis of light on the otherwise dark floor.  Soulful songs of heartbreak circled lazily on his turntable.  He held his cell phone to his ear and listened to it ring and ring, imagined it trilling, vibrating on a table, or muffled inside a handbag, far on the other side of the continent.  

He hadn’t downed enough scotch to fully blunt his gut-deep understanding of the wrongness of what he was doing, and yet he wasn’t sober enough to prevent the colossal blunder it would likely turn out to be.  The world glowed warmly, soft and scotch-golden and blurred at the edges.  He needed answers, he’d decided somewhere between the third glass and the fourth, and he was willing to risk his peace of mind even further to get them. 

"Hello."  The woman’s voice came across the line so clear and familiar that a chill traveled down Harvey’s spine, followed by an intense longing for a time and place too long gone, to which he could never return. 

"Mom?” 

A short pause, impossible to interpret.  Then, “Harvey?"  Carefully neutral, with surprise bleeding through. 

"I … "  Nearly ten years had passed since they’d last spoken.  He supposed that he should ease into things, and take a couple of moments for the polite niceties.  "How are you?"  That wasn’t the question he’d called to ask her, but he had to start somewhere. 

"I’m fine."  Another short silence, during which he could almost hear the delicate wheels in her mind whirring out question after question.  "Is something wrong?"  A faint uptick in panic accompanied her next query.  "Marcus?” 

Harvey experienced a pang of guilt, which was the last thing he wanted, or which she deserved.  He hurried to reassure her, though.  “Also fine.  That’s not why I’m calling.  Everyone is doing well."  He felt reasonably sure he wasn’t lying to her, but he hadn’t spoken to Marcus for six months or more. 

"I see.” 

She didn’t ask anything more, mulishly waiting for him to get to the point, and maybe this is where Harvey’s stubborn streak came from.  He had to remind himself that he was not deposing a witness, or cross-examining an opposing party in a lawsuit.  In his mind, he tried and failed to compose a tactful, coherent sentence to guide them to the crux of the matter.   

Finally, he simply blurted it out.  “Why did you do it?” 

She could hardly have misunderstood him, but shot back, in what sounded like an almost reflexive manner, “I beg your pardon?” 

“You know what I mean,” he growled softly.  “Why did you cheat on Dad?” 

“Harvey, I refuse – ” 

He talked right over her, grating out the damning words.  “I need to know because I cheated on someone I care about and I can’t for the life of me figure out why.  You’ve had more practice at this, and I thought maybe the passage of time had given you some insight into your motives.” 

This time, the silence stretched for so long he thought she’d hung up on him.  Then he heard her slow, careful exhalation of breath.  “I don’t know.  Maybe I went looking for things I believed were lacking.  Maybe I was lonely.  Maybe I just enjoyed a good fuck."  She laughed, harsh and bitter.  "Or maybe I needed to be reminded that I could still be more to someone than a wife or a mother.” 

“And those were such awful things to be?” 

“Harvey, I do not want to do this.” 

“I know.  I know.  I didn’t mean to –  I just don’t understand.” 

They both went quiet again.  Harvey thought about Mike, and how the two of them fit together so perfectly, snug and warm and compatible in the best ways.  Compared to that, Scottie had been all jagged edges that excited at first, but caused too much blood and pain once the initial blast of lust had been satisfied.  

Unlike his mother, Harvey hadn’t been lonely, hadn’t felt anything lacking with Mike.  Sex with Mike was amazing, and every bit as explosive as what he felt with Scottie, perhaps more so.  The difference was, he’d never settle for once every six months with him, or once a year, or two years.  He wanted Mike all the time.  Every damn day. 

“What is there to understand?” his mother asked, voice soft with the resignation of someone who had abandoned the fight years ago. 

“I want to know what’s wrong with me.  How could I do that to him?  Why?  Do you and I share some kind of genetic defect?” 

A whisper of a laugh came over the line.  “Yes, Harvey.  We do.  It’s called being human.” 

“Fuck,” he moaned.  “Please tell me there’s a cure.” 

“If you, of all people, haven’t found one yet, I’m afraid there’s no hope for any of us.” 

“What the hell does that mean?  Me of all people?” 

“I mean that ever since you discovered that your mother was flawed and fallible, you have systematically, ruthlessly cut yourself off from honest emotion, and from anything that might lead to a long term relationship.” 

“First of all, that’s not true.  And secondly, you know zero about me and my life.”  He wondered how much Marcus had told her, but it wasn’t like he and his brother talked regularly either.  

“I’m just going off of what I remember.  Are you telling me you’ve changed?” 

Harvey swiveled his chair around so that he could look out over the city nightscape, and wondered, not for the first time, why everyone always assumed that of him, assumed that he didn’t have normal feelings.  He might not wear his emotions on his sleeve, but he felt as deeply as anyone.  Some days, it felt as if his feelings would devour him from the inside out.  Lack of feeling was not the problem.  Lack of trust was. 

“Harvey?  Are you still there?” 

“Yes.” 

“You know, in spite of everything, I’m pleased that you called me.” 

_That makes one of us._ He frowned at his reflection.  “Don’t assume it means anything.  Don’t assume it means you’re forgiven.” 

She gave a gentle snort.  “My son the hypocrite.  Well, thank goodness you never had any kids to hold your mistakes over your head for the rest of your life.  But let me tell you something:  I forgave myself a long time ago, and whether you want to believe it or not, so did your father.  The only one still holding a grudge is you.” 

 “Mike will never forgive me.”  He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, to speak his worst fear to anybody, least of all his mother.   He reached for the scotch, but changed his mind.  “I fucked up.” 

“Maybe.  Mike … does he love you?” 

He couldn’t give her an answer.  He believed Mike did.  Or _had._   Did he anymore?  Harvey had no idea, but had strong cause to doubt. 

Regretting the impulse that had made him dial his mother’s phone number (a number Marcus had forced on him), he knew he should simply end the call and go home, but his gut continued to churn with guilt and self-loathing, and he still needed answers.  It galled him, but his options were limited.   And somehow, during the course of the phone call, the years long anger and resentment, to which he had clung so doggedly, had diminished.  

Children hold onto past hurts, he mused, not grownups.  He was an adult, and maybe it was long past time he began acting like one where his mother was concerned.  

In a voice which sounded remarkably calm, he asked, “Mom, what do I do?  How do I make him not hate me?” 

“I doubt that he hates you.  He’s angry right now, and hurt, but love isn’t as fragile as most people seem to think.  As for what you should do, that’s something you’ll need to figure out on your own.” 

“What?  No insights?  No sage advice?” 

“If you love him, don’t cheat on him anymore.  And if you want to keep him, make sure he knows how you feel, and that you’re sorry.” 

Harvey didn’t know what to say, so only grunted in response. 

The blank, artificial silence created by modern communications technology continued until his mother spoke again. 

“I’d like to see you, sweetheart.  It’s been too long.” 

Harvey recoiled slightly at her use of the endearment, but forced himself not to react audibly.  When he could trust his voice, he said, “I have a busy schedule.” 

“I’ve been thinking about taking a trip back to New York.  I still have friends there.  Would you unbend enough to have dinner with me?” 

His first instinct was to say no – absolutely, irrevocably no.  A shift had taken place inside of him during the course of the phone call, however.  Additionally, her charge of hypocrisy stung more than he cared to admit.  _Be an_ _adult,_ he lectured himself. 

“Call me when you’re in town,” he murmured, ignoring his accelerating pulse, “and we’ll set something up.” 

They said their goodbyes quickly after that, and hung up.  It was nearing midnight.  As tempting as it was to drink until he passed out underneath his desk, Harvey didn’t think it would be good for his reputation if some first year found him snoring and drooling on the floor in the morning.  He grabbed his coat and headed home. 

*** 

Harvey had never given Mike a key to his place.  He’d thought about it more than once, but had never gotten around to having one made.  His doorman had come to recognize Mike after all of the times he’d been over, however, and must have let him into the building. 

When Harvey found him, Mike was sitting by the door to his condo, head resting on his knees, and appeared to be asleep.  Harvey spoke his name softly, and Mike’s head lifted.  Blue, unblinking eyes regarded Harvey, giving nothing away. 

Fresh guilt pricked Harvey, along with faint hope over the fact that Mike was even here.  “You want to come inside?” 

After an instant’s hesitation, Mike nodded slowly and rose to his feet.  Harvey turned the key in his lock and let them in. 

“Have you eaten?” asked Harvey as Mike went straight for his usual place on the couch and sat down.  It was not lost on Harvey that he perched at the edge of the cushion, as if prepared to launch himself up and out the door at a moment’s notice, if Harvey said or did the wrong thing. 

Mike shook his head.  “I wasn’t hungry.” 

“How long were you sitting out there?” 

“Couple of hours.” 

Harvey ignored the stab of regret at the thought of Mike waiting for him for so long.  “I’ll fix us something.  Or I could order out.  How’s pizza sound?” 

“Harvey, please just sit down, I have some things I need to say to you.” 

Everything inside of Harvey seemed to freeze up at Mike’s words, and his solemn tone.  Mike was going to break things off with him for good.  Knowing that he deserved it, and deserved every accusatory word Mike likely intended to throw in his face, didn’t make it any less distressing.  He decided to head him off, and get in what he needed to say first. 

“I didn’t get a chance,” Harvey said slowly, as he sat down across from Mike, “to tell you how sorry I am."  When Mike moved restlessly, Harvey spoke faster.  "And when I said it was a mistake, I meant what happened with Scottie, not what’s been growing between you and me.” 

Mike bit his lip and stared at the floor, seeming to digest what Harvey had said.  When a few minutes had passed, and he still hadn’t replied, Harvey tried again. 

“I wasn’t lying to you on Christmas.  I want you in my life, Mike, and I’m talking about more than work.  I want you here, with me, on my couch, in my bed, at my side every day.” 

With seeming reluctance, Mike raised his gaze to meet Harvey’s.  “You cheated on me.  _You_ cheated on me.  You, of all people.” 

Harvey knew what he was saying, knew precisely what that emphasis on “you” signified.  He hadn’t planned to tell Mike, but the words tumbled past his lips just the same.  “I called my mother tonight, after you left.” 

That got Mike’s full attention.  His brows drew downward, and he frowned.  “But you don’t talk to your mother.  Ever.” 

Even though there was nothing amusing about this conversation, Harvey’s mouth contorted into a sour smile.  “True, but I felt a sudden urge to talk to her, to ask for advice, one cheater to another.” 

“Ah.  And what did she say?” 

Harvey swallowed, noticed that he was twisting his hands together, and set them carefully on the armrests of his chair.  “She called me a hypocrite.  Told me I had the misfortune to be afflicted with some incurable disease called being human.” 

“How dare she,” whispered Mike, eyes wide and unblinking.  “And her advice?” 

“To not cheat on you again.  And to tell you how I feel."  Two beats of silence passed as he studied Mike’s face.  "But I already told you how I felt, on Christmas.  I love you.” 

Except for a barely noticeable tightening around his eyes, Mike’s stony expression did not alter. 

“I’d sort of hoped,” continued Harvey, “that you might eventually get around to telling me how you feel, and whether or not you reciprocate – ” 

“Don’t you dare,” Mike snapped, showing the first signs of real anger.  “Don’t blame my silence for what you did.” 

“I’m not."  Harvey leaned all the way back in his chair, taken by surprise by what Mike was implying.  "You think I slept with Scottie because … ” 

“Because you said you loved me, and you didn’t get the words spoken back to you.  Never mind that what you did get in return was a big stupid grin, complete with googly eyes, and followed by an amazing blow job, all of which should have told you everything you needed to know.  All the clues were there.  All the pieces were in place for something remarkable to develop between us.” 

“I know that.” 

“Yes, but here’s something you probably didn’t know.  I’ve been in love with you since day one.” 

Shock robbed Harvey of breath for a few seconds.  He’d long suspected that Mike semi-worshipped him in a mentor/mentee sort of way.  But love?  “You never … ” 

“I never admitted to it, because I’m not an idiot.  Well, not usually.  Think about it for half a second and you’ll realize there were a hundred reasons or more why I kept it to myself.” 

Harvey didn’t have to think about it.  He knew the reasons, most of which were the same ones that had kept his own mouth shut for so long.  He felt his jaw grow rigid as anger built slowly inside of him.  “So, I had the guts to admit my feelings to you, but you couldn’t be bothered to do the same?  Did it amuse you, to leave me there with my ass hanging out like that?” 

“Well, you do have a nice ass.” 

“Really, Mike?  Jokes?  Is that how you want to play this?” 

Mike stood suddenly, and Harvey feared he intended to walk out the door and never look back.  Instead, he marched into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator.  “I’d offer you one,” he said as he wrenched the cap off the bottle, “but I can smell the scotch on your breath.” 

“I’m entirely sober at the moment, and I don’t believe you ever answered my question.” 

Mike drank deeply, and then dragged the back of his hand across his mouth.  “Which one?  No, don’t bother trying to untangle the conversation.  I think I get the gist.  You thought you’d make this grand declaration, and I would swoon all over you because I’d be so grateful that the great Harvey Specter had shown me favor.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“Bullshit yourself.  Look, I’m sorry if I wounded your pride.  But it felt good to have that little bit of leverage for once.  I wanted to enjoy the feeling for a while, but I wasn’t going to make you wait long before I told you how I felt.” 

“It’s been nearly a month since Christmas.” 

“And I’ve been waiting for the right moment.  I wanted it to feel special and right.  Those are three important, powerful words.  You said them to me, and it felt magical.  Transcendent even.  I wanted you to get that same rush.” 

And now he would never hear the words from Mike, would never get that rush.  He’d fucked up.  What was done, couldn’t be undone.  “Well.  So.  I’m not sure what else you want me to say.  I said I was sorry, and I am.  I could say I’ll never do it again, because I won’t.  If you waited in my hallway to hear anything else, I’ll have to disappoint you.”  He laughed bitterly.  “Again."  He rubbed his eyes, tired of this conversation, tired of himself.  Tired, full stop. 

Mike dropped back down onto the couch, resting the beer bottle on one jittering knee.  "I went home first, before I came here.  I couldn’t unwind, though.  All these thoughts were – "  He waved his hand to either side of his head.  "They were racing, a million miles an hour.  I went from hurt, to angry, to confused, back to hurt and angry.  And then … "  He stopped, staring sightlessly down at the floor. 

"And then what?” 

“Then I started feeling sad, partly for me, partly for what might have been between us, but mostly for you.” 

“Me?"  Harvey spoke the word distractedly, having gotten stuck on the words, "might have been."  Was Mike saying it was over?  

"Yes, you.  It hurt that you hurt from having hurt me.” 

Harvey gave a short laugh.  “Maybe I am still a little drunk, because I think I actually understood that.” 

“See, here’s the thing, Harvey.  I know your history.  I know what makes you angry, and sad, and what causes you to unravel in all of the wrong ways.  Infidelity is number one on the hit list, so I know for a fact that you are beating yourself up right now, punishing yourself more than I ever could for your lapse.  And I could follow the Harvey Specter playbook, condemn you, storm out, demand my door never be darkened again by the likes of you.” 

Harvey had to swallow and swallow around the lump in his throat.  It cut straight to the bone, how well Mike knew him. 

“But,” continued Mike, setting the beer down and sliding out of the chair, onto his knees, “I don’t like our chances of a happy ending if I do that."  He knee-walked closer to Harvey’s chair and grabbed the hand nearest to him.  "So here’s the deal:  I love you.” 

“Mike,” Harvey rasped, light-headed with relief. 

“I love you.  And I forgive you.” 

Harvey’s chest constricted.  He eyes drifted closed, but he forced them open to meet the clear blue eyes staring back at him.  “I don’t deserve it,” he stated.  “I clearly don’t deserve you.  I swear, though, that I’ll make it up to you.  Every single day.” 

Mike shook his head.  “No.  No, it’s not like that.  I’m saying it’s done.  It’s over.  You made a mistake.  I forgave you.  Now we move forward, with the slate wiped clean."  He lifted Harvey’s hand and kissed his wrist, tongue flicking him wetly.  "Just don’t ever do it again.” 

Harvey’s vision blurred.  He could scarcely believe it.  Mike was giving him a second chance.  “I won’t,” he whispered fiercely.  “I swear I’ll never hurt you like that again.  Now get the hell up here so I can kiss you.” 

Mike obligingly crawled into his lap, wrapping his arms around Harvey’s neck.  Slow and sweet, they kissed, and to Harvey it felt different than any of the times they’d kissed before.  Something warm and electric worked its way through him, radiating out from his heart, suffusing every limb and digit, making him go light-headed with a delicious swell of happiness and desire. 

He finally pulled back, holding Mike’s face between his hands, feasting his eyes on the miracle that was Mike Ross. 

“I don’t deserve you.” 

Mike’s smile was sweet, and mischievous, and full of promise.  “Maybe not yet.  But based on past experience, I predict you will, and soon."  He stood up and pulled Harvey with him, towards the bedroom.  

"What’s that supposed to mean?  Soon?  Is that some kind of dig?” 

“You should probably stop talking now.” 

Harvey decided to stop talking.  

As it turned out, it was an excellent decision. 

 

**The End.**  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this Susan Tedeschi song, "Sweet Forgiveness," on replay a while back … for reasons. Eventually, I started thinking about how amazing it would feel to receive that sort of unconditional forgiveness after hurting someone in the worst way imaginable. And then I wrote this.


End file.
